In the space-time channel that was about to be swallowed whole by corruption…
"Charge!"
Marshal Thales roared.
No one could tell whether the marshal's fury came from the black fog gnawing at his mind, from a premonition of the calamity closing in, or from shame at the tremor of fear that had stolen into his heart.
Whatever the cause, the result was the same: the four-meter-tall commander, a man who had weathered countless campaigns, drove his warhorse forward. His axe gleamed in the shifting gloom as he vanished into the fog at the very front.
Such raw defiance shocked the armies of the assessment world standing frozen in the channel. Their own cries of war caught in their throats.
Before them stretched a tide of twisted matter, endless black fog, and the demons it birthed, each with eyes glimmering with a hunger that stripped away courage itself.
For the first time, hesitation bound these warriors in place.
